Jealousy
by I'm-Reading
Summary: It was true that I was jealous. It was true that I loved her. And she could never know, not now that she was gone. -Cinderella-


It was a true, I was jealous. Jealous of the young girl. Jealous of her perfect golden hair. Jealous of her sweet, naïve nature. Jealous of the love that her father so lovingly bestowed on her. Jealous that he couldn't love me that much, he loved her more than he loved _me._ And then he was gone, and it was just me and her. Perfect little Ella. And I was jealous that my own daughters weren't her, that she wasn't mine.

I made her work. Because she couldn't be mine. Because she was beautiful and perfect and I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand to see her outshine me and my daughters. Couldn't stand to allow myself to love her. Couldn't allow myself to care. But I did care and she could never know that. No one could ever know that. So I clung on to my jealousy, because it was so much easier to be jealous.

As she grew, she became more and more beautiful and she worked more and more. Because I couldn't stand for her to outshine me, but she did in her own way. I don't think anyone noticed her like I did. I watched her more closely than I watched anyone else, more closely than I watched my own daughters. And in my own way I could suppose you could say I loved her, entranced by her was a better word.

Then the ball came along. And then I thought I might have finally found a way to get rid of my daughters, my daughters that I showered with love that I had never felt. I was convinced that if I made them good enough, the prince would choose them and then I could have Ella all to myself, and maybe I could tell her. But she couldn't go, because I _knew_ the prince would love her. She was perfect and he would choose her. And she would be gone, and I would never see her again, and she would never know. So she couldn't go to the ball, I just couldn't let it happen.

I think that the moment she entered the ball room, I knew it was her. Her hair was piled up gracefully and her face was clean and her gown was better than anything we could ever afford, but it was still Ella. It was the same face that same smile, the same loving nature. And he loved her, just as I'd known he would. They were all entranced. And I prayed and hoped it was someone other than her, because the moment she walked in she was as good as gone. So it couldn't possibly be Ella. It just couldn't be.

And when we came home she was sitting there. And I breathed out a sigh of relief. It hadn't been Ella. I was happy, it was just some other girl that the prince wouldn't married. Because she had run away, and Ella wouldn't do that. Because Ella was brave, far braver than I was. Then she had talked and talked of the ball as she had _imagined _it. And I clung to the beautiful words that flowed from her mouth, pictured the perfect scene she described. And then I realized that it had been Ella, it couldn't have been anyone else. Anyone better. Anyone as perfect as she had been. But she was still here, by some miracle and she wouldn't leave me and maybe, just maybe one day she would know how much I cared, but not now.

Then the prince arrived, with that blasted shoe. And I could almost hear my hopes being shattered. And I clung on to the hope that maybe it would fit someone else, maybe it would fit my daughters and I'd have a chance to be rid of them. So I carefully locked Ella away. Because he couldn't have her. She was mine and no one could take her from me. But then she came and he saw her and that stupid shoe fit and it was like the perfect ending to a fairy tale. And the prince gathered her up in his arms and she laughed and smiled at him, and I was jealous. Jealous that she loved him and not me.

I was there at their wedding. Sitting in the back unnoticed, just a common observer in a very uncommon wedding. She was so beautiful as she walked down the aisle by herself, no father to walk her down and one wicked stepmother who never really cared. What a sad story, if I hadn't really loved her. If I wasn't so entranced by her. If I didn't want to be their by her side. When the wedding was over I watched her. Her blue eyes were shining with excitement and a smile never left her lips. There was one woman, just as short as Ella was, with a motherly face and warm brown hair that flowed down her hair. She drew Ella up in a hug and held her tight. I was close enough to hear what they said and I leaned in to hear what Ella would say to her godmother.

"Thank you," Ella whispered.

"Aaah, sweetheart," the woman whispered, "You have nothing to thank me for."

She leaned back observing her for a moment and her eyes shone with pride.

"Your father would be so proud."

She engulfed her again in a hug and rocked her back and forth. And I was jealous of the look that Ella exchanged with her godmother. Jealous of the trust that had so easily sprung up between them. Jealous that she would never love me like she did her. Jealous that I didn't love anyone the way they loved each other. And I realized jealousy would never get me anywhere.


End file.
